


Settling Old Debts

by abvj



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 11:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abvj/pseuds/abvj
Summary: Sophie asks Tara for a favor.





	Settling Old Debts

**Author's Note:**

> Posting for archival purposes. Originally written in 2012. Set mid-season two, just prior to 2x09, "The Lost Heir Job". All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.

   
"I need a favor."  
   
Tara's immediate response is to laugh, and she does just that – tilts her head back, allows her shoulders to shake. Makes a show out of it.  
   
"Let me savor this moment," she breathes, pressing her mouth into a thin line in an attempt to sober herself. It doesn't quite work. Still laughing, she sips her wine and curls her feet underneath her. Sophie rolls her eyes, adjusts until her back is leaning against the arm of the couch. "What makes you think I am in the business of granting favors," Tara murmurs, still laughing. At Sophie's raised eyebrow, she sobers, pauses with her wineglass halfway to her mouth. "Unless, of course..."  
   
Shrugging, Sophie reaches forward to pour herself more wine. "You owe me," she singsongs. 

It's meant to be light, playful, but there is an edge there Tara has only ever heard Sophie use with marks and underlings, the people Sophie Devereaux had absolutely no use for but simply enjoyed taunting.  
   
"You're cashing in?"  
   
"I am."  
   
Letting out a low whistle, Tara grabs the bottle of wine from Sophie and refills her own glass. "Must be a big job."  
   
"I wouldn't call it a job, exactly... more like... Well, _job_ is in an accurate descriptor. Just not in the sense you’re thinking."  
   
"You’re avoiding the pertinent details."  
   
"I'm getting to the pertinent details."  
   
Tara sips her wine and waits. 

When Sophie is ready she continues, "It's been a while since we've talked," which is an understatement Tara doesn't feel the need to point out. "I've been working with a team."  
   
"So I've heard," she murmurs, but Sophie catches it because Sophie catches everything. They share a look that says everything they don't feel the need to say aloud: Marcus has a big mouth.  
   
"They're without a grifter and floundering because of it,” she smiles slightly, the left corner of her mouth twitching. “It's cute, sort of, but it's also detrimental. I'm worried for them."  
   
"For your _team_?" Tara is smiling, wide and full of teeth. The way she says it is innocent, but Sophie is a master at reading between the lines, and her mouth presses into a frown at the way Tara says  _team_ like it's a dirty word.  
   
"We are… were a little more than a team," Sophie relents slowly, almost sheepishly, and Tara merely raises an eyebrow, her mouth curling around the rim of her wineglass.  
   
"You've gone soft," Tara says, all accusation and without a trace of kindness.  
   
Sophie bristles, pressing her lips into a thin line. "I resent that implication."  
   
"Resent it all you want," Tara laughs. "It's still the truth. Besides, if they're more than a team to you, then why are you here and not there?"  
   
They've been friends for longer than Tara can count on her fingers and toes, and there are lines they don't cross, habits and routines they can rattle off from memory. Sophie doesn't look away, not quite, but her gaze averts to the side for a flicker of time, her mouth pursing angrily as she tightens her fingers around her wineglass before setting it to the side. When she relaxes, no more than a half-second later, she's closed off, the line of her spine straight, her shoulders stiff, but her smile relays nothing of the sort. Tara knows bits and pieces of what Sophie has been up to the past few months. She has heard the rumors, the stories. Picked up on inferences from the woman herself, but whatever happened to send Sophie back to London is a topic she is not ready to talk about.  
   
"You don't get to ask questions," Sophie says neutrally. "That isn't a part of the terms."  
   
Nodding, Tara relents, finishes the rest of her wine in a solid swig, and sets her glass on the coffee table to the left of her.   
   
"Okay," she says, nodding. "What do you need?"  
   
There is a sigh, soft and weighted, barely audible, but Tara catches it, watches the smile blossom across Sophie's mouth as she starts to describe the people she left behind in Boston. Tara remembers, all too clearly, a night years before, an alliance cultivated over a life saved and debt owed. She remembers the years that followed, how the unlikely alliance between her and Sophie transitioned to a friendship, to a camaraderie Tara didn't believe could exist in their world. 

Outside, London rain spits across the window and Tara is already calculating the length of the plane ride from Heathrow to Logan. She’s already devising a strategy to get herself upgraded to first class without actually having to pay for it.  
   
It's the type of thing you do for family.  
   
(Although, if pressed, Tara would only ever admit that this was about settling old debts. Nothing more, nothing less. She couldn't very well allow anyone to accuse her of going soft, could she?)


End file.
